


Goodbye Goodnight

by loveavillain (copper28)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10735983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copper28/pseuds/loveavillain
Summary: 'The noise that comes from Billy Rocks was not something Red ever wishes to hear again. He’s heard bloodthirsty battle cries that chill your bones, he’s heard dying screams and wailing women, even the sobs of a mother were nothing to the heartbreaking gushes of anguish that were escaping Billy’s lips.'Goodnight Robicheaux never came back to the battle, but he did fight to the death.





	1. The Victim of Rose Creek

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to some pain, but I promise there is a happy ending. I realise that the injuries in half this fic are not ones you could survive with, or carry on like nothing had happened, but... story time so let's ignore that. Hope you all like this, the next part will be up within the next few days. <3

When the final shot rang out, and the last layer of dust settled in the deathly silent town, only then did Billy Rocks move from his vantage point in the church tower. It was a slow decent down to the cooling body of Bogue, a conversation of looks between Chisolm and Emma. Billy hit the floor without his usual grace, clutching at the throbbing bullet wound in his shoulder. 

Chisolm turned to face him, his gaze sombre. 

“That it?” Billy asks, his thoughts instantly turning to Goodnight. He only had a day’s head start; if Billy wrapped this wound up he’d catch up with some hard riding. 

Chisolm doesn’t answer; instead he disappears out into the blood bath of a street. 

Huffing his annoyance, Billy follows slowly, limping a little. He had a grazed leg too, but that wouldn’t slow him down on his ride. 

Outside, the others were gathering. Red appeared on his horse, Vasquez dragging along a dazed looking Faraday. Faraday had blood coming out of both ears, and various holes in his torso but apparently that wasn’t enough to bother him. Horne popped up from behind a building, lumbering over with an arrow protruding from his shoulder and his hand. He pulled them both out like it was nothing, and nodded once to Red. They each looked to Chisolm as he stands in the centre of their rough circle.

“Anyone find Goodnight?” Chisolm asks. 

Billy feels like his heart has stopped. “Goody?”

Chisolm doesn’t look at him, his fingers twitching as he looks at his boots before glancing at Red. “Bogue… he said we had a sniper behind his ranks. Said it was a good move, he lost a lot of men. But…”

“They got him.” Vasquez breathes out, streaming off into quiet Spanish cursing. 

Billy just stares at them both, as if they were speaking another language he didn’t know. 

“Red. See if you can find his body?” Chisolm says, looking up towards the ridge where the smoking Gatling gun still sat in smithereens. 

Billy surges forwards, wounded shoulder forgotten as he forces himself up onto the nearest horse. He’s off before anyone can stop him, though he can hear the sound of pounding hooves behind him as he gallops off towards the ridge, pretending his heart wasn’t about to pound right out of his chest. It felt like it was five sizes too big, pushing blood round his body too fast, making him sweat when he wasn’t even warm. Everything felt cold, numb, like he was in a dream. He briefly wonders if this is how Goody felt every time his nightmares would follow him into the waking world and the lump that appears in his throat feels like it’s going to choke him. It can’t be true. Goodnight wasn’t here, he didn’t fight, Billy’s just got to catch up. He’s just got to ride fast enough to catch up. 

Red shouts behind him, but Billy doesn’t slow his pace as he begins to see bodies. 

They’ve been taken out swiftly; dark circles of red decorate each face. A shot between the eyes, one through the mouth, one through the base of his skull. There’s one that’s gone down with his horse, bullet travelling through man and beast. Then there’s body’s further along the ridge, turned towards an unseen foe. 

Billy stops his horse abruptly, his gaze following the trail of dead and refusing to acknowledge what it means. He stares at them without feeling, as if they were just rocks surrounded by the swaying grass. 

“Let me look.” Red says, sliding from where he sat on his horse beside Billy. Billy hadn’t even noticed him catch up. 

He watches as Red picks his way along the grass, skirting round bodies until he reaches a small rocky outcrop that dips into a small river. The perfect place for a hiding sniper.  
The man disappears, and Billy is vaguely aware of a splashing sound, but he’s gone back to staring at the trail of bodies leading to the rocks. They were heading to the sniper, they’d seen him. Bogue said the sniper was dead but it wasn’t Goody, it can’t be Goody because Goody was safe, he’d run, he was safe, he was just a day’s ride away it-

Red reappears slowly, and he stops at the edge of the grass. Red was a hard man to read, but for once Billy had no trouble. 

“No. No, no, no. No, Red. It’s not- it’s not him.” Billy says, shaking his head as if that would change fact. 

Red approaches carefully, his eyes never leaving Billy. “Blood by the river. Lots.” He has something behind his back, and Billy doesn’t want to ask what it is. 

“Not his.” Billy chokes out, his nails digging into his palms with how tightly he had hold of his reins. 

Then Red holds up a hat. 

The noise that comes from Billy Rocks was not something Red ever wishes to hear again. He’s heard bloodthirsty battle cries that chill your bones, he’s heard dying screams and wailing women, even the sobs of a mother were nothing to the heartbreaking gushes of anguish that were escaping Billy’s lips. Billy slips from his horse, unable to find the strength to even keep himself upright as hot tears spill from his eyes, blurring his vision. He doesn’t care, what was the point in being able to see this world if there was no Goody to spin poetry out of it? Where was the point in seeing if he had no Goodnight to look at? The pain in his shoulder seemed like child’s play compared to this. This felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, and now he had a gaping hole where it should be. 

Red picks him up off the floor, saying something comforting but Billy couldn’t hear what he was saying. He didn’t help, a dead weight in the man’s arms as he’s placed back on his horse. Billy doesn’t take the reins, simply sits hunched over with Goodnight’s hat clutched in both hands. He doesn’t remember taking it, but it smells of smoke and opium and gunpowder and it’s so Goody that Billy starts sobbing all over again. 

The walk back to Rose Creek seems to take a lifetime. Red is out front, Billy’s reins in his hands as he takes them back. Billy’s stopped crying, but his fingers were still curled in Goodnight’s hat, so tight he thought he might never be able to straighten them out again. His eyes are red, and he’s sat hunched over in his seat. Everyone stares as they come back, and Billy wants to lash out at them all, to shout and scream that this was their fault, it was their fault that Goodnight was gone. It wasn’t fucking fair. 

Chisolm glances at the hat in Billy’s hands and clenches his jaw, looking up at the sky as he closes his eyes for a moment. 

“Shit.” Faraday says, still hanging off of Vasquez. 

Horne sighs, and looks upwards too. “Blessed as we were to know him, he’s in God’s hands now. In a better place, free from torment.” 

Billy wants to kill him, and his hands shake as he fights the urge. No, Goody wasn’t God’s he was his he should be with Billy. He shouldn’t be dead; he should be just a day’s goddamn ride away.

But he wasn’t. He was dead, and all Billy had left was this hat and his pain. What did Horne know of torment? 

He should have gone with him. Should have left this town to burn and been far away with the light of his life. 

“Billy? I’m sorry.” Chisolm says. 

Billy knows he means it, knows that Sam never wanted to see Goodnight hurt, but if Billy doesn’t feel something other than despair he fears he might not see the morning. 

”Fuck off Sam. Fuck all of you.” Billy snarls, allowing the familiar warmth of hate fill the empty space in his chest. 

Vasquez sighs, and snaps his fingers as Sam starts to move towards Billy. “Leave him. Let him go.”

Billy jumps from his horse, ignoring the burning pain in his body as his limbs protest the movement. It didn’t matter, he barely felt it. Stalking from the gathered group, Billy begins to head to his room.

Only to stop dead as he reaches the Saloon. 

If he goes back to his room, he’ll be greeted with two empty beds. One that was never slept in and the other would forever only hold one warm body. He’d be greeted with half finished cigarettes, a shaving razor that had the initials G and B carved on either side of the wood. He’d find a lingering scent of smoke and whiskey and that soft sweetness that was just Goodnight still clinging to their sheets. He could go back upstairs and pretend that any second Goody would saunter in with that grin on his face as he kicked his boots off and kissed Billy like his life depended on it. 

Billy turns right, and storms off towards the stables instead. 

When he gets there, he’s not sure the sight he’s greeted with is better or worse. There in the paddock was his horse, just where he’d left her, and standing on the other side of the fence with blood spattered up her legs and fully tacked up, stood Goodnight’s mare. 

Billy makes a choked noise as he stares at them, throwing his hat off his head in a fit of pure emotion. He bends over, burying his face into Goody’s hat as he screams, the startled wickers of the horses drowned out by his cries of grief. He can feel his tears soaking through the well worn material of Goodnight’s hat, and he abruptly tears himself away, stumbling backwards and forwards as he watches both horses stare at him. 

They’d joked once, that their horses were the animal versions of themselves with how inseparable they were. Even during their first night together, Billy had wanted to tie his horse away from Goodnights, she was usually very stroppy with new horses, and Goodnight had simply grinned at him and tied them both shoulder to shoulder. He’s said his horse was as charismatic as he was and would soon woo Billy’s horse into companionship. Billy had asked if Goodnight intended to do the same to him. Billy remembered Goodnight’s laugh, as if that was the first time he’d laughed genuinely in years. 

Now here they were again, they’d always find each other when things went south; Billy and Goodnight had come to rely on it with some situations. Except now, Billy knew he’d never have Goodnight come wandering back down to the stables. He’d never have him riding next to him, their knees brushing as they exchanged sweet smiles galloping away from a rigged fight. 

He wants to shout at the horses. It’s not fair, why should they have each other when Billy can’t have Goody? He should kill one of them, make it even, and share the pain.  
But even as he thinks it he can feel the anger and the violence drain out of him. The horses stare back, and Goodnight’s horse twists it’s head to start carefully grooming Billy’s, and Billy can feel a fresh wave of tears begin new tracks down his cheeks. 

He moves on auto, it felt like he was watching himself outside his own body. He gets both horses inside the barn, taking them both into one stable, locking all three of them inside. He un-tacks Goodnight’s horse, throwing the saddle and reins over the stable door as he reaches for a brush. Rubbing down his own horse was rhythmic, and he could lose himself in the familiar routine, make his mind go blank. When it came to brushing Goodnight’s horse, it was harder to do. He brushed out the blood on her legs through blurred eyes, trying not to wonder if this was Goody’s blood he was removing from her skin. Billy gets them water, get’s them both some hay and oats, and then he stands in the middle of the stable, no idea what to do or where to go. 

He feels the satin soft skin of the horse’s muzzle against his hand, and he turns to see Goody’s horse gently pushing into his touch. He strokes her, letting his fingers trace across the velvet fur on her nose, carefully moving up along her face to scratch behind her ears. Behind him, his own horse had lain down in the sawdust, her eyelids drooping as she began to doze. Goodnight’s horse throws her head forwards, knocking Billy in the direction of the horse on the floor. 

Pretending he had thought of the idea himself, Billy drops to the ground beside his mare, Goodnight’s hat still clutched in his hands. He leans back, using the horse as a pillow. Goodnight’s horse stares at him, as if she was keeping watch while he rested. It was a stupid notion; one Billy knew was ridiculous, she was just a horse, but he swore she was looking after him as his eyes began to close. He falls asleep to the sound of heavy breathing that was nothing like Goodnight’s gentle snores, and somehow, he doesn’t dream.


	2. The Revival of Billy Rocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy is visited by the five remaining Seven, but he's a difficult man to comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second part! I hope you all enjoy, it's been fun to write. Thanks for reading!

Red is the first to visit. 

He comes armed with bandages and strong smelling pastes that Billy wants to argue against. He brings a blanket too, one that smells vaguely of dog that has definitely not come from their room. 

“Come. Your wound will infect.” Red says, leaning against the door of the stable. 

Billy looks up at him through bleary eyes. They burn every time he blinks, and his neck feels stiff with the weird angle he’s slept in. Sighing, he eventually heaves himself to his feet at the same time his horse does. He stumbles over to Red, presenting his shoulder as he leans heavily against the door. 

Red eyes him, but says nothing as he carefully treats and dresses Billy’s bullet wound. 

Billy offers no words of conversation. He was never the one to fill the silence that was always Goodnight’s job. Now, Billy would only hear silence, so everyone might as well get used to it.

Red pats his back when he leaves, and hands him the blanket without a word. 

-

Horne comes the next day, pretending he needed to get a new stirrup. 

“You alright in there?” He asks carefully. 

Perhaps he’d seen the look of hate Billy had thrown his way a few days earlier. “Fine.” 

Horne steps closer, leaning over the stable door. 

Billy is sitting in the corner of the stable, Goodnight’s hat cradled in his lap as he stares at it. Both horses are standing near him, munching on a bale of hay he’s got piled up beside him. It both looks and smells like he’s not moved from the spot since Red came to treat his shoulder.

“You know, those horses will go lame you don’t let ‘em out of here. Need fresh air. Clears the mind.” Horne says, slapping the stirrup he has in his hands against his healing palm. 

Billy’s not quite sure if he means himself or the horses with that last statement, but the man speaks some truth. 

When he’s gone, Billy gets up from the corner of the stable for the first time in almost two days, and he leads both horses out into the low light of the setting sun. He lets them into the empty paddock, and perches on the edge of the fence like Goody used to. He can’t get the balance quite right. Never could. The stab of pain that comes at the memories of him falling on his arse and Goodnight doubling over laughing was unexpected. He didn’t think a memory as small and insignificant could cut so deeply. He almost falls off again there as he fights the quickening of his breath and the tightening of his chest. The thought of these tiny memories fading was almost too much for him to bear. He wanted to recall Goodnight’s lazy smile in perfect clarity, the way their shoulders brushed when they’d walk through a door together, what he’d said the first time they’d visited San Francisco. If these memories were all Billy had left, he didn’t want them to ever come to him with blurred edges. 

But he knew they would. One day, if he lived that long. When his hair was thinning, his joints stiff, one day he might not be able to recall the exact curve of Goodnight’s nose, or the shade of his eyes, or the smell of his coat. 

Billy pushes the thoughts from his mind, blinking back tears as he watches their horses amble around the small paddock. He tried to tell himself that they hadn’t found a body yet; Goodnight might come riding back into town like nothing had happened. But even as he tried to convince himself, he knew that wasn’t the case. Goody’s hat was evidence enough and his horse too. Even if he had been alive after getting to the river, there was no way he was now. The search party had gone out that night to look for him, and even Red had found nothing. It was hopeless. Billy would live with his emptiness alone, until the day he died. 

He calls the horses back when the moon is shining brightly, eyes burning again as he rubs them dry, and they return to the stables for another night. 

 

-

 

Chisolm comes next, as Billy thought he would. 

The man stands in the doorway of the barn as Billy is brushing his horse, and Billy ignores him entirely. 

“You living in here now?” Sam asks, wandering to the stable beside Billy’s where his own dark horse resided. 

Billy growls, shifting to swap his horse for Goodnight’s as he began the process again. “Lived worse.”

Though now he’s not sure if that’s true. Perhaps he’d lived in dirtier places, more dangerous, less comfortable, but he’d never lived in pain like this. He’s never spent every second wishing he was dead, wishing this gaping empty feeling would stop. He’s never felt this cold, or alone. 

Chisolm huffs, and reaches to stroke along his horse’s face. “We’re sending out the last search party today.”

Billy doesn’t answer. He’d known this would happen that they’d give up looking for Goodnight’s body. What did it matter? Goody was dead, whether he had a body to bury or not.

“We’re holding funerals for everyone lost tonight. You should come.” Chisolm says, and Billy can feel him staring at him. 

He keeps his gaze on Goodnight’s horse, obsessively grooming over where he can still see the blood spatters she came back with. 

“No.” He says eventually, when it’s apparent Sam won’t leave without an answer. 

Chisom nods once. “Alright. Change your mind, you know where we’ll be. I’ll come get you if we find anything.”

Billy wants to tell him not to bother, that it doesn’t matter if they found him because he was gone. Billy didn’t want to see Goodnight in death’s pale light; he wanted him back with that warm spark in his eye and a soft hand in his. What was the point in looking at something he couldn’t ever have again? 

But he says nothing, and Chisolm leaves him alone. 

Later that night, Billy hears the low gentle tones of church hymns, and he can see the orange glow of hundreds of candles lit beneath the church from the barn doors. He stands watching and smoking for as long as he can, until his chest is so tight he feels like he can’t breathe. 

It wasn’t closure. Funerals just hurt. They just solidified that burning ache that was never going to go away. 

Billy cried himself to sleep that night, and not even the horses could comfort him. 

 

-

 

Vasquez is the first person who gets him away from the stables. 

He comes in like nothing’s happened; demanding Billy comes over to the saloon to play All Fours cards because Faraday cheats like shit, Red can’t play, Horne won’t play, and Chisolm loses on purpose to get away.

Billy’s not sure why he went, but it felt nice to be out in the fresh air as Vasquez deals the cards on the front porch of the saloon. The town is busy with people working, but it doesn’t look like a bomb’s gone off in the centre anymore, and there are only faint blood stains in the dirt. He tries not to look at those too much. 

“So my friend,” Vasquez says, cigar hanging loosely from his lips. “How’re you doin’?”

Billy looks at him with absolutely no expression. “What do you think?”

Vasquez shrugs. “How would I know? You been living with horses. People are starting to talk.”

The smile that tugs at Billy’s lips surprises him, and he answers with a faint trace of humour. “Let them.”

Vasquez chuckles, and then he places his cards face down on the table to look at Billy properly. “I’m not people. I want to hear from you.”

Billy sighs, the smile wiped from his face as his teeth grind together. “I’m shit. What else do you want me to say?”

“Nuthin’. You answered my question.” Vasquez says, picking his cards back up. 

Billy eyes him for a moment. He’s not sure why, but the words are pushing on his tongue, and for once he feels like he wants to talk. His gaze flicks towards the church, and then he puts his own cards down. “I miss him.”

Vasquez freezes, and then looks up at Billy with sad and gentle eyes. “We all do. But you most of all.”

Billy huffs a laugh, but he can feel his eyes beginning to shine with unshed tears. His smile falters, and he can feel his lip tremble as the words get stuck in his throat. “I don’t- I don’t know what to do.”

Placing his cards down again, Vasquez pushes a glass towards him, and fills it with rum. He knows better than to give Billy whiskey, and he wisely removes the bottle from his reach after he’s poured the drink. “You live for him.”

Billy nods and looks away out towards the mountains, tilting his head back to try and stop himself from crying. He brushes the back of his hand over his cheek before he downs the drink, relishing in the warmth it spreads down his throat. 

If living for Goodnight was the only thing Billy could do now, then he’d be damned if he didn’t do it. 

 

-

 

Faraday came like the final horseman, ghosting up beside him when he least expected it, and when he least wanted it. 

Billy had finally begun rejoining society and spending less time in the stables. He still hadn’t entered their old room, no-one had, but he was spending more nights in the saloon, and in the two weeks that had passed since the battle he’d only had one major breakdown in front of Vasquez. Privately was a different story. He wasn’t okay, but he was better at hiding it now.

Billy had been heading towards the church when Faraday appeared beside him, matching him step for step. 

“Hey Bill.” He says cheerily, gazing out at the mountains. 

Somehow, Billy answers without a snarl. “Not now, Faraday.” 

Faraday sighs, and reaches to grab hold of Billy’s arm. They both come to an abrupt stop, and Billy glares at him. 

“What-“ But he’s cut off quickly. 

“I know, I know. I ain’t exactly your best friend, but look, I just wanna apologise. For what I did before, with Goodnight and the guns y’know? Wish I could apologise to him but, well.” Faraday shuts up quickly, shifting on the spot awkwardly. 

Billy stares at him for a good ten seconds. It’s the first time he’s heard Goodnight’s name spoken since it happened, and it hits him hard how much he misses Goody’s name being thrown so casually into conversations. They used to take bets on who would suddenly straighten in their seat in bars after hearing his name, and Goody would always bet on the shiftiest looking individuals that never budged. It was always Billy’s bets that moved. 

“It’s, um. It’s fine. Doesn’t matter now.” Billy says, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. 

Faraday sighs. “Guess not, but, for what it’s worth. I am sorry. I’m sorry for what you lost too. I know it weren’t just a friend you lost that day.”

Billy’s eyes snap up to meet Faraday’s, a defensive fire burning hot and dark. 

But Faraday doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t look at Billy with anything other than sympathy. Pity.

Billy can’t find the energy to hate him. He’s tired. Everything was so much harder without Goodnight, and he can’t force himself to deny the suggestion. He had loved Goodnight. Still loved him, and he wasn’t about to try and convince anyone otherwise. Not anymore. What did he have to lose? 

“Thanks.” 

Faraday nods once and they part ways, Billy heading off towards the church. They had a little cross in a quiet corner for Goodnight, and Billy visited often. He’s doesn’t know why he keeps going, he knows Goody isn’t there, and it brings him no comfort. Sam had suggested it to him, and it had become routine for Billy more than anything.

Looking off towards the ridge where Bogue’s men had once stood, Faraday sighs to himself. He’s not quite sure how he manages to annoy Billy so much, but he’d made his effort. Ain’t nothing more he could do. 

Vasquez was just beginning to wander over to him cigar hanging casually from his lips, when Faraday spots movement in the corner of his eye.

In the distance, just below the mountain, he swore he’d seen a man. 

“Hey, hey Vas?” Faraday calls, squinting at the glare of the sun. 

Vasquez reaches him with a leisurely pace, frowning at whatever it was he was staring at. “What?”

“You see that?” He asks, pointing towards where there was definitely something moving. 

Vasquez narrows his eyes against the sun, and his hand drops to his gun. Rose Creek wasn’t exactly a busy town, and after the battle everyone was suspicious of anyone new coming close. Not unwelcoming, just cautious. “A man?”

Faraday nods, watching as the figure got closer. 

They watch for a few moments longer, when Vasquez’s cigar drops to the floor. He stares out into the distance like he’d seen a ghost. “Dios mio.”

“What? Who is it?” Faraday asks, leaning forwards as if that would help him see further. 

But Vasquez pays him no mind. Instead, he twists, turning to face where Billy was standing in the cemetery. “Billy!”

Billy looks up at him blankly, not even answering to his name, simply staring at the man. 

“Come here! Billy look!” Vasquez shouts, a wide grin on his face.

Billy seems to contemplate ignoring him, but eventually he sighs and takes a slow walk over, turning his gaze towards where Vasquez was pointing. “What? It’s a mountain.”

“No no, look harder. Under.” Vasquez says, excitement vibrating from his every move. 

Billy sighs again, and peers more carefully into the distance. 

He sees a figure moving slowly towards the town, a long coat drawn over strong shoulders. It looks dirty, darker patches littering the fabric, but it sways with the man’s body as he moved, making him appear more graceful. Billy can see the man is injured, and he can’t explain why a sudden protective feeling flares up inside him. The familiarity makes him frown, and he looks harder. He can just about make out damp hair stuck to the man’s face, stubble across his cheeks and a longer goatee decorating his jaw. Billy’s frown deepens. 

There’s a glint of gold in the warm sunlight, and Billy feels like his whole world has just been lit on fire. 

There stumbling down the ridge, was Goodnight Robicheaux. 

Everything seems to happen in slow motion once he realises Goody’s not dead, he’s alive and coming back to him. For the first time in two weeks, Billy can feel himself breathing, the fresh air filling his lungs like he hadn’t inhaled for days. A wide grin is spreading across his face, and he can feel a bubble of laughter spilling up out of his chest that he can’t control, that he doesn’t want to control. 

Happiness for Billy Rocks had always been hard to describe, but now he knows exactly which two words could blaze in even the darkest of times. 

Someone shoves his shoulder, and he’s vaguely aware that there’s a crowd of people beginning to gather behind him, but all his focus is trained on that lone figure walking down towards the town. Billy stumbles into action, his pace beginning slowly as his mind catches up with the fact he was going to hold Goodnight again, ride with him, eat with him, lay with him. He was here, he was alive. 

Everything had clicked into place when Billy started sprinting, charging across the field with blades of grass whipping at his legs as he goes, Goody’s hat flying off his head with how fast he was running. 

As he gets closer, he can see Goodnight’s pace has faltered, but he’s still trying to walk towards Billy like his life depended on it. He’s practically beaming at him, and Billy can hear his low gentle laughter as he covers the last stretch of distance between them. 

Billy slams into Goodnight, his arms instantly wrapping around the man’s chest like a snake, clinging onto him as if any second now he’d disappear into the air. Goodnight returns the gesture, his arms locking round Billy’s shoulders as they stand panting. Hot tears are running down Billy’s face as he buries into the crook of Goodnight’s neck, as close as he could possibly get.

“Was that my hat?” Goodnight asks, pressing his nose against Billy’s cheek. 

Billy laughs, the first genuine laugh in two weeks. “You’ve been dead for weeks and the first thing you say is ‘was that my hat?’”

Goody smiles at him, leaning back to properly look at his partner. “Oh, I am sorry Billy, let’s start again, I’ll say something more flowery. Run back down there, no-one will notice.”

“If you think I’m letting go of you for a second you’re an idiot.” Billy growls, flexing his tight hold around Goody to emphasis his point. 

Goodnight grins, and Billy can’t stop himself closing the distance between them. He doesn’t care if half the town is watching, he doesn’t care that he might lose friendships, he doesn’t care that they could be run out of Rose Creek, Billy Rocks thought he would never know the feeling of Goodnight Robicheaux in his arms again. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t kiss him. 

This morning, Billy had woken to an empty feeling in his chest, like a cold winter wind that would never stop whipping at your back. He’d moved without feeling, eyes dead and unseeing as he lived for the sake of living. There was no joy in him, not even Vasquez could tempt more than a huff of detached laughter from him. 

Now he laughed as he broke away from Goodnight as his lungs burned for air, eyes sparkling with adoration as he takes in each tiny detail he thought he’d never see again. His hands move of their own accord, sliding through Goody’s hair and down his throat, stroking across his unkempt beard with a gentleness reserved only for him. 

“Happy I’m real?” Goodnight asks with a glint of amusement, not waiting for an answer as his own hand slides to cup Billy’s jaw. 

Billy leans into the touch, unable to stop the soft sigh that escapes him as Goodnight’s thumb strokes up across his cheek. “Not quite. I’ll need a more thorough examination.”

The throaty chuckle that comes from Goodnight has warmth spreading through Billy that he can’t explain. 

Goody shifts against Billy, and Billy is suddenly reminded that Goodnight had been limping.   
Somehow, Billy tears himself away, pulling back to arms length to let his eyes roam across Goodnight’s figure. There’s blood drying in various places across his coat, and one side of his trousers was totally dark. 

“Shit, Goody, what happened to you?” Billy breathes out, immediately moving under Goody’s arm to take the weight off the leg that was clearly injured. 

Goody only gives one grimace of pain before he schools his expression, flashing his gold tooth in a grin. “Ah, a lucky shot. Think there’s still a bullet stuck in there somewhere.”

Billy makes a strangled noise as he starts to move them towards the town. “And we’re wasting time hugging while you have a bullet in your leg.”

“Now Billy, for a while there I reckoned I wouldn’t get to see that beautiful face of yours ever again, and I’m damn sure you thought the same about my rugged good looks. I think a few more minutes with some extra weight in my leg won’t hurt while we reacquaint ourselves.” Goodnight says with a smirk as they start to head down to Rose Creek.

They only get a few steps before Goody speaks again. “Billy, I’m sorry-“

But Billy cuts him off immediately. He knows what Goodnight is going to apologise for, and right now he honestly doesn’t care. Billy had two weeks of experiencing what it would be like for Goodnight to be gone, he doesn’t want to talk about Goody leaving. Goodnight’s need to leave could have been what saved him; perhaps, if he’d stayed things would have been different. “Goody. It doesn’t matter.”

Goodnight sighs. “I left you to die.”

“No you didn’t. You left to avoid war and I walked straight into it.” Billy had had weeks of thinking about this. He didn’t blame Goodnight for leaving. They had both known how Goodnight struggled with his experience in the war, and they both knew his fears of killing, his nightmares, and his anxiety. They had come anyway, and Billy had ignored the alarm bells until the last second, and then he had let Goodnight go without any fight. He had needed to leave, and when it came to it Billy chose justice over love. A mistake he wouldn’t ever be repeating. 

“I still left.” Goody says, and Billy can’t stand the self-loathing he can hear in Goodnight’s tone. 

Billy shakes his head, bringing them to a stop as he sees Chisolm and the others starting to approach with a horse to get Goody back quickly. “You came back.”

Goodnight wishes he could say he came back out of honour. He wishes he could say he ignored his fears in favour of the greater good, that his cowardice was finally squashed by the justice they had to serve for this town and the promises he had made to save it. But it would be a lie. 

He came back because on his short ride out of town, the empty space beside him where Billy should have been chewed him up. He found his demons chasing him unobstructed, shadows making him jump and owls hooting long into the night. The cold loneliness as he rode out into the darkness is what made him turn round. He couldn’t live without Billy. He needed Billy, and not even his fear of death could stop him from being by his side. 

Goodnight had gone back to fight for Rose Creek because he couldn’t stand to have ridden away without Billy only to never see the man again. He would die without Billy, so if Rose Creek was going to be his end, at least he’d do it by Billy’s side.

“I came back for you.” Goodnight says softly, his gaze never leaving Billy.

Billy meets his eyes with a look of understanding. “That’s good enough for me.”


End file.
